One Year Ago
by Aurora West
Summary: Faramir broods, and Eowyn seeks to find out why. [FaramirEowyn]
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing. Faramir's pretty though, isn't he? 

Chapter 1

It was a clear, cool day in Ithilien. The birds knew that winter was teetering on the verge of spring and sang gaily while flitting about looking for nesting materials. Rabbits were beginning to appear, and if one was quiet enough when out in the woods, a heavily pregnant doe could be spied. The first crocuses were blooming and here and there the tight, lavender bud of a violet was visible. 

Faramir, son of Denethor and Steward of Gondor, sat in his reading room in a warm patch of sunlight staring broodingly out the window. He'd been there all morning, watching sparrows land on a tree near the window, lost in thought. A blank piece of parchment was spread out on the table next to him, with a quill lying across it. The ink on it had long since dripped off, leaving a blotch that was still spreading. 

"Faramir?" a soft voice asked from the doorway. 

He turned to face his wife. The sun was falling on her, making her white dress and golden hair seem illuminated. There was a look on her face that he adored--one of peaceful happiness--and for a moment, he just contented himself to watch her, until Éowyn smiled a little and questioned, "Perhaps you don't wish to speak with me, my lord?" 

"Don't be ridiculous. I was just admiring your loveliness, as always." 

She entered the room and stood beside him. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she said, "You've been here all day looking mournful. Is there something wrong?" 

He shook his head a little and looked back at the window. "I wouldn't want to trouble you with my unhappy thoughts." 

"And I don't want you to be troubled by unhappy thoughts," Éowyn retorted, staring into his eyes. "What ails you?" 

"It's nothing to concern yourself about." 

"Faramir, I am your wife and I have every right to be concerned." 

After a long pause, he sighed and said, "It's been a year since I found Boromir's horn washed up on the riverbank. My life became so strange after that moment. I never thought it would be possible to lose all my family in a heartbeat, yet that's what happened. After Boromir passed, I assumed I would at least have my father. He may not have been kind to me, but…" Faramir shrugged. "He was still my father. He was all I had at that time. And then I was relegated to a ceremonial position by…by a stranger from the north." He stopped for a moment, surprised by the bitterness of his words, and then added in an attempt to soften them, "As my father would say." 

Éowyn's brow was furrowed with concern and sadness. "Faramir, why haven't you spoken of this before? I know you miss your family, but I didn't realize you felt that…that way about the Stewardship." She bit her lip. "I had no idea you were unhappy…" 

Faramir looked up at her and, seeing the expression on her face, jumped to his feet and put his arms around her. "Oh, Éowyn, I'm not unhappy." He smoothed her hair and kissed her brow. "My life has just changed so much. On this day it seems more drastic a change, for some reason. I'm perfectly content to hold the position of Steward under a king--I never wanted the job and never expected it. Sometimes my father's words slip out despite my best efforts, that's all. In his last days he talked often and angrily of a Ranger from the north usurping his throne." 

Éowyn did not seem to be comforted. "I'm glad that, at least, isn't disturbing you." 

He tilted her chin up and she met his eyes. "And this year has brought the most important change of my life, Éowyn. One that has made me the happiest man alive, I think." 

Éowyn leaned against him, apparently mollified. "Seeing sadness on your face returns me to times when my own thoughts were dark." Looking up at him, she added, "I don't like to think of you being so unhappy." 

"I'm not," he assured her. "It's just…sometimes I don't think I'll ever truly come to grips with Boromir's…passing. There are days that I wake up and forget for a moment that I shall never share some ridiculous private joke with him or spend a day riding, as we used to." Faramir sighed. "And he will never see Gondor free of the shadow of Mordor." 

Éowyn gently put her hand on his face. "I am sure that wherever Boromir is, he sees that Gondor is now what he always fought for it to be." 

Faramir put his hand on hers. "You're only saying that because it's conventional." 

"Perhaps," she replied with a small smile. "But it's comforting, is it not?" 

"Indeed." He gazed at her for a moment, then embraced her tightly. "I am glad I found you, Éowyn." 

She smiled into his tunic. "And I am glad you found me, too." Stepping back so she could look at his face, Éowyn said, "If you're mournful, how can I possibly hope to ever stop grieving?" 

"I hope you're not still grieving that often!" Faramir exclaimed. 

"No. But I, like you, have days when the losses of my uncle and cousin are especially painful." 

"We are both very damaged," Faramir said, smiling slightly. 

Éowyn's expression grew a little brighter. "There, I knew my cheerful Steward was there somewhere." 

"He may put in an appearance today," Faramir replied. 

"You shouldn't keep it to yourself when you're unhappy." Éowyn scrutinized him closely, and then surprised him by saying, "There's still something bothering you." 

Giving her a bewildered look, Faramir asked, "Now, how can you tell that?" 

She put a finger lightly on his forehead. "There's a little crease between your eyebrows that you get when something unpleasant is on your mind." 

"You're too observant." 

"My apologies. It comes from being a woman in a court full of men. Now what's wrong?" 

He shook his head in mild, amused exasperation. "You'll drag it out of me eventually, I suppose. It is nothing so great, I just miss the library in Minas Tirith. It was my hideaway when I was younger, you know." 

"You've spoken of it," Éowyn said with a thoughtful look on her face. 

"I don't feel right without a book near at hand. But I cannot ask King Elessar to give me anything from the library. The books are his by right." 

"Surely he would not miss some of them," Éowyn protested. 

With a small smile, Faramir replied, "But, you see, I'm very selfish and could not settle for only some of them." 

"You're not selfish, only learned," Éowyn said firmly. "And I must be honest; I often wish we had at least a few books. I've had such small opportunity for reading that I should like to better acquaint myself with it." 

"It's only that you can't stand to be bested by me at anything," Faramir replied, a serious expression on his face. 

A slight twitch of his mouth betrayed a smile, and Éowyn laughed, her hair flashing in the sunlight as she tossed her head back. "I assure you that that is not the case. I am happy to be bested by you, for then I can have pride in everything you do." 

"You seem to find humor in that." 

"Not at all." 

"And if that is the case, then why are you nearly bursting with laughter?" 

For a moment, Éowyn kept her face stern, but then she threw her arms around him, laughing, and said gaily, "Faramir, I love you." 

"And I, you," he murmured. "Now, my dear, are you convinced that I am not unhappy?" 

She put her hands on his face and stared into his eyes searchingly. After awhile, she told him, "I am convinced…for now." With that, she left the room, saying over her shoulder, "Will you join me for lunch in an hour?" 

"Of course." 

"And until then will you come outside and look at my garden?" 

Faramir chuckled. "So that's what you've been doing all morning. Yes, of course I will." He followed her from the room, attempting to forget his gloomy thoughts for another time. 

To be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

I still own nothing, and Faramir is still pretty. I also want to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter. I bounced happily around the room every time I discovered a new review. Thank you! 

Chapter 2

To: Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm 

I hope this letter finds you well and that you are still enjoying Minas Tirith. I confess I am not writing this letter merely to exchange pleasantries, for I have a great favour to ask of you. My Lord Faramir has been very somber of late, and while it is in part due to loneliness for his family, which I can do very little to assuage, it is also in part to the lack of a library at Emyn Arnen. And this is where my favour enters: I wonder, if it is at all possible, if you could obtain some books from your people? I have some money to pay for the cost of copying, but there would not be much left over to reward you for your kindness, I'm afraid. 

I eagerly await your response. 

Regards,   
Lady Éowyn of Ithilien   
  
  
  


To: Lady Éowyn of Ithilien 

I am quite well, thank you, and still enjoying Minas Tirith immensely. Indeed, I am now most likely better acquainted with the city than you, Lady. You should suggest to the Steward that the two of you come to Minas Tirith for awhile, as all here would be delighted to have you. 

But you no doubt are wondering about your request. You will be happy to know that I have sent word to my kin in Mirkwood and with luck, they will deliver copies of many of the books in the library there. In addition, I took the liberty of showing your letter to Arwen, and she has asked her father if he can spare any of the books at Rivendell. 

Do not concern yourself with payment. I am happy knowing that even when my people are gone, there will still be those in middle-earth who know of our history and culture. And we are, after all, friends, are we not? 

I shall contact you when the books arrive. 

Regards,   
Legolas of Mirkwood   
  
  
  


To: Meriadoc Brandybuck, Buckland, the Shire 

My dear Master Brandybuck, I must first apologize to you for not writing sooner. We received word of your troubles--if you will forgive the understatement--in the Shire. I was saddened to hear that your homeland, which sounded so beautiful, could be touched by any evil, and, as you can imagine, very glad to hear of a favourable outcome. 

My good friend, I must ask a favour of you. I remember you speaking of an interest in the history of the Shire and of the small selection of books on the subject at Brandy Hall. As you no doubt could guess, we have even less here in Gondor. Faramir is a scholarly man (as you may have noticed) and there is little for him to study here. If you could give me permission to send copyists to make copies of the books in your family's possession, I would be forever indebted to you. 

Best regards,   
Lady Éowyn of Ithilien   
  
  
  


To: Lady Éowyn of Ithilien 

I shall do all you ask, and I shall deliver them myself! 

Yours,   
Meriadoc Brandybuck   
  
  
  


To: King Elessar 

My liege, I apologize for the brevity of this letter in advance, but I hear my husband approaching and I would rather he didn't know I was writing this. Though you have no reason to perform any favours for me, I would be forever grateful if you would consider this one. Speak to Legolas, for I have written to him of this matter already. 

Yours to command,   
Lady Éowyn of Ithilien   
  
  
  


To: Lady Éowyn of Ithilien 

I understand your need for brevity. I, too, must be brief, for my wife is under the impression that I would be joining her for supper twenty minutes ago. 

I have spoken to Legolas, and I gladly acquiesce to your request. It was a grievous oversight on my part not to think of a library for the two of you. Likewise, it was an oversight on Faramir's part not to mention it. Tell your husband: I don't bite. 

When the copies are ready, I shall send further communication. 

Regards,   
Elessar 

~ 

To be continued... 

Please review! 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I looked into the whole ownership issue of this Tolkien stuff, and...it's still not mine. And a note: this chapter doesn't exactly further the plot, but I've wanted to do it for awhile, so I did. Because it's my story. But don't let that deter you from reviewing! And also, I'm thinking that another beta reader would be good for me, since I'm mostly doing all my own revisions and editing and it would be great to bounce ideas off someone else. But I only want someone who's really going help me out, so if you think my work is perfect, then that doesn't work. But I hope no one does. As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed--this chapter wouldn't be getting posted right now if not for you. Anyway, story. Chapter 3! 

Chapter 3

Éowyn slowly opened her eyes to the bright morning sunlight and stretched her arms above her head languidly. She remained in that position for awhile, still half asleep, and then, turning on her side, she met Faramir's grey eyes. "Good morning," she said with a smile. 

In answer, he pulled her to him and kissed deeply. When they separated, he replied with a grin, "Good morning. You slept late." 

"Have I? Why didn't you get up?" 

"I was enjoying watching you," he told her, tracing the line of her jaw lightly. "You looked so peaceful." 

"I was dreaming." 

"About what?" 

"Rohan." Éowyn paused and closed her eyes, trying to recall the images of her dream. "It was spring and all the wildflowers were blooming on the plains around Edoras." Opening her eyes and meeting his gaze, she said, "I must take you there in that season sometime and show you." 

Faramir smiled and nodded, studying her intently all the while. "Éowyn," he suddenly said, "Will you tell me something? Something about your life…before you met me?" 

"Why would you want to hear about that?" she asked with a small smile. 

"Because sometimes I feel as though I hardly know you." 

"You know me better than anyone ever has," she assured him. 

Faramir gently ran his fingers through her hair. "All the same, I would be grateful if you indulged me." 

"In this, as in all things, I shall obey, my lord," she acquiesced, eyes twinkling. 

Faramir rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her, but his eyebrows drew together when her expression saddened. "What is it?" 

She sighed. "My childhood does not hold many happy memories. And when I recall one, it's very bittersweet." 

Faramir gathered her in his arms. "Oh, Éowyn, I don't want to cause you pain. If you do not wish to tell me--" 

"No, I will tell you." She smiled at him. "But then you must return the favor." 

Laughing, he returned, "You are sly, my dear shieldmaiden, but it shall be as you say. Come, though, tell me something." 

She closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly began. 

~

It was April in Rohan. Spring had come late that year, and there was still a bit of a chill in the wind as it whipped around the Golden Hall. The hillside of Edoras, however, was nevertheless blanketed in simbelmynë, and Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, lay among them, staring at the clear blue sky. She had discarded her cloak in favor of letting the sun fall fully upon her, despite the warning of the maidservant in Meduseld that she would catch her death. Éowyn cared naught for the warning--it was sunny and she had been trapped within the walls of the Golden Hall for far too long, for it had been the harshest winter she had ever experienced in her eleven years. When she did come outside, she made sure to face east always, hoping every day for the reappearance of the king and his riders. They had ridden out months ago--the king, her cousin, and her brother. She had never felt the loneliness so keenly, for her brother had always stayed behind at Edoras in the past. But he was fifteen now, old enough to accompany the Rohirrim when they rode out to slay orcs. Somehow, though, she could not picture Éomer spearing orcs--after all, she was still capable of knocking him senseless! 

The girl sighed. Day after day she watched the horizon, and they did not come. 

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth on her lids, drifting into a light doze. Sometime later, she was awoken by vibrations, like the echo of thunder, shuddering through her body from the ground. She sat up swiftly and was just able to make out a cloud of dust several miles away--like that kicked up by horses charging across the plain. 

Excitedly, Éowyn leapt to her feet and bounded into the city and up the hill to Meduseld, where she could better see the approach of the Rohirrim. It was some time before they arrived at the city, and they did not appear to notice her as they rode through the gates. Éowyn searched vainly for her family, but from such a distance and with them in full armor, it was impossible to identify anyone. She watched as they rode into the stable, suppressing the urge to rush there and greet everyone. They would, no doubt, know she was waiting. 

Her hopes were not disappointed, for not twenty minutes later, footsteps rang out in the Golden Hall and a voice called, "Éowyn?" 

She turned and cried, "Uncle!" happily racing into his outstretched arms. 

He lifted her right off her feet, laughing, and kissed her cheek while she giggled. Setting her back on her feet, he asked, "How are you, Éowyn?" 

"I'm well," the girl replied, grinning. "Where are Éomer and Théodred?" 

"I sent them to their quarters to clean themselves up a bit." Théoden King looked at her fondly. "I am glad you were not overly lonely. We were gone longer than I had expected to be." 

Éowyn shook her head fervently, not wanting her uncle to think her weak. "I wasn't lonely, no." 

Théoden knelt and put his hands on her shoulders. Something seemed to occur to him, and he said sternly, "You shouldn't be out without a cloak, Éowyn. It's still cold." 

"I haven't been out long," she lied, knowing another lecture would be on the way if she said otherwise. 

He raised his eyebrows but said no more on the subject. Instead, he picked up a satchel that was sitting behind him and held carefully. "I brought a gift for you." 

Éowyn's eyes lit with curiosity. "You did? What?" Théoden loosened the ties on the satchel and pulled it open. After a moment, a small, black nose appeared over the edge, and Éowyn inhaled sharply. Reaching a hand out, she peered inside and exclaimed, "A cat!" She carefully scooped out a scrawny kitten with smoky fur and wide yellow eyes. It gave a chirping little meow and sniffed at Éowyn's nose, then batted a paw at it. The girl giggled and said, "She's pretty. Where did you find her?" 

Théoden scratched under the kitten's chin with a finger and replied, "Outside an abandoned village. She probably lost her mother." He paused and told her seriously, "You must take care of her if you keep her. She'll be your responsibility." 

"Lost her mother…" Éowyn murmured. Just like her. The girl stroked the kitten and cradled it close to her chest as a twinge of pain shot through her. She wouldn't think of her mother. Meeting Théoden's eyes, she said in an earnest tone, "I'll look after her, Uncle." 

Théoden put a hand on her head affectionately. "What will you call her?" 

Thinking for a moment, Éowyn decided, "Catte." 

With a smile, Théoden said, "A noble name." He turned around, and looking at Éowyn again, told her, "I believe I hear your brother coming." 

Éowyn grinned, and holding Catte carefully, went to meet Éomer. 

~

Éowyn was silent for awhile after she finished speaking, and Faramir did not intrude upon her thoughts. Finally she sighed and said, "Wormtongue came to Edoras only months later. That is one of my last fond memories of the Golden Hall." 

Faramir kissed her cheek lightly. "Thank you for telling me. I know your uncle was important to you, but you speak of him so rarely…" 

"It's hard," she said simply. "You know that. Isn't it why you speak so rarely of your family?" 

"Yes," he replied. "But I promised to tell you something of them." 

"You did," Éowyn agreed. "But it's not necessary if you don't want to." 

"Of course I do," Faramir said. "After all, you can never meet Boromir, and I would like you to know about him." The young man paused momentarily and thought, and then his face brightened and he began. 

~

All was quiet in Ithilien as the sun set. No smoke from cooking fires rose into the sky--the last of the inhabitants of the ravaged land had fled long ago, most to Minas Tirith, but some to the coast; and the Rangers entrusted with protecting the area were all gathered at their base camp, Henneth Annûn. They were happily celebrating the inauguration of a new captain, who had managed to slip away from his jubilant (and inebriated) men for a few minutes. The young man stood above the falls, gazing not at the sunset, as he often did, but at a narrow path below. It remained untraveled, despite (or perhaps because of?) the man's unwavering watch. He knew he could not remain outside long--his men would soon find him and bring him back to rejoin the celebrations that were in his honor. 

Suddenly the clatter of hooves on stone reached his ears, and he peered down into the growing darkness. Spotting a dismounting rider, he grinned and quickly made his way to the path. The rider spotted him immediately and laughed before going to him and pulling him into a hug. "Faramir!" 

"You've come!" Faramir replied, an even wider grin on his face as he returned the gesture. When he saw that his brother was alone, however, his expression faltered a bit. 

Boromir noticed this and said, "No, he has not come with me. But we will not let the old vulture ruin this night for you." 

Faramir shrugged and put his father's absence out of his mind, saying, "It's well you arrived now--I was about to go back inside, and then how would you have found your way?" 

With a chuckle, Boromir replied, "I may not come here often, but I do remember how to find the entrance." 

"Ah, of course." The younger man laughed at the half-annoyed look on his brother's face, then put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the entrance of Henneth Annûn. 

The minute they stepped into sight, they were met with cheers and the sounds of both of their names being shouted--for Boromir was also well-loved by the men of Gondor. Mugs of ale were thrust into their hands, and it seemed that everyone wanted to speak personally with Faramir to congratulate him. He sipped slowly at his drink during the festivities, knowing that if ever there was a time for drunkenness it was then, but not wanting to lose control over his senses. Particularly since it was one of the rare occasions that his brother was there. 

Boromir, he noticed, didn't lose himself in drink either, and as the festivities lasted long into the night and men began disappearing to get some sleep, he motioned to Faramir, and the two of them went outside to sit in the darkness for awhile. "So, Captain," Boromir began, "how are you? I haven't had the chance to ask." 

"Very well," Faramir replied, leaning back to take in as much of the star-studded sky as possible. "I enjoy being in Ithilien. Truthfully, I didn't expect to be given command of the Rangers--and certainly not so soon. Apparently I must be doing something right, though." "I'd say so," Boromir remarked, smiling. "You're one of the youngest captains I've ever heard of, and this is a difficult command." 

"My job will be made much easier by the quality of the men here. They're all remarkable." 

"You have a good relationship with them," Boromir observed. "I don't need to tell you how important that is." 

"No, you don't." Faramir agreed. He considered his next words for a moment, then added, "They really are more than just my men--I consider them all friends." Suddenly looking at his brother, Faramir asked, "And what about you? You're moving up through the ranks." 

Boromir waved his hand dismissively. "Let's not talk about me tonight. You're the man of the hour, are you not?" 

With a grin, Faramir said, "Now you're making fun." 

"Would I really mock my little brother?" 

"Yes." 

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Clapping the younger man on the shoulder, Boromir said, "Congratulations, Faramir. You deserve this post. We're all proud of you." 

Faramir raised an eyebrow at this. "We? Who would that be?" 

"Me, for one. Uncle Imrahil--he was in Minas Tirith and had hoped to get the chance to see you. You were here, though, of course." Boromir hesitated for a second before adding, "And Father." 

"Father?" Faramir's eyebrows shot even higher. 

"Yes, Father," Boromir sighed. "Though he wouldn't tell you to your face." 

Looking closely at his brother, Faramir said in a somewhat surprised tone, "You fought with him about it." 

"And what if I did?" Boromir asked casually. 

Brow furrowed, Faramir responded, "You don't need to fight with him on my behalf. I know his opinion of me, and it's my lot to deal with it." This statement seemed to annoy Boromir, so Faramir put a hand on his shoulder and added, "I appreciate that you stand up for me, you know I do. But--" And here he smiled a little wryly. "You cannot protect me, not from the shadow of Mordor, and not from Father. I was forced to protect myself early in life from all the harsh realities that make up this world of ours. And, after all, I am now the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers." He stopped, concerned that he may have said too much. Truly, he didn't mind his older brother's apparent need to shelter him. There had been a time when that wasn't the case, when Faramir was eager to prove himself to the world and, perhaps more importantly, to his father. They had exchanged harsh words in what was one of their few real fights. Now, though, he saw Boromir so rarely that it was something he allowed his brother to do. 

Boromir, however, was smiling. "I always make the mistake, somehow, of thinking I've aged while you've remained…young." He stopped and then added, "I'm sorry." 

"You're forgiven," Faramir assured him, a crooked smile on his face. After a moment, he abruptly said, "Remember when we were younger, we'd ride in Ithilien and camp?" 

"Yes, in more innocent days." Boromir leaned back against the rock face, staring upwards. "You were forever spotting fantastical creatures in the stars and forever frustrated that I didn't see them as well." 

Faramir chuckled. "I spotted the mundane, as well." 

Boromir glanced at him, then grinned. "Oh yes, I'd forgotten about the great saddlebag of the heavens." 

"You see? I'm not completely lost in my imagination." Faramir returned the grin and pointed at the sky. "Tell me, brother, can you see the oliphaunt just above the horizon there?" When Boromir punched him lightly, Faramir laughed and said playfully, "Don't you think you're a bit old to be instigating one of these scuffles?" 

Boromir opened his mouth to reply, but stopped at the sound of footsteps on the rock. The two men turned to see who had joined them, and both jumped to their feet when they realized who it was. 

Bowing, Faramir greeted, "Father, I did not expect you." 

Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, almost looked at a loss for words--which was, of course, impossible. His eloquence was his chief weapon, and he never lacked for something to say. Or, usually, someone to say it to. Now, however, it was several long moments before he replied a bit gruffly, "No. I did not know I would make the trip myself until merely a few hours ago." Looking at Boromir, the Steward commanded in a hard tone that he usually reserved for everyone but his eldest son, "Leave us." 

Though Boromir obviously did not want to and looked as though he was going to protest, he disappeared back inside. For what seemed like a long time, Denethor just stared at Faramir. The young man braced himself for a reprimand of some sort, since that was what usually met him when he and his father exchangd words. However, as the silence between them lengthened and the sounds of the night were the only thing to be heard, Faramir began to wonder why he'd come. Surely if Denethor was angry about something, he'd have made it clearer by now. As long as Faramir could remember, he'd been quick with angry words and blows as well. This silence was unnerving. 

Finally, Denethor cleared his throat and asked, "Do you like it here?" 

Surprised, for a moment Faramir didn't know how to answer. But, warily, he replied, "Yes. I have always been fond of Ithilien. Being stationed here is not a great hardship." 

Denethor nodded and turned his gaze on his son, studying him. His eyes were unreadable; flat and grey, as they often were, and so unlike Faramir's own eyes. It was only after many years of practice that he was able to leech all emotion from his eyes so that when anyone would look into their grey depths, they would see nothing. The technique was most useful when it was necessary to meet with his father. Now, however, he kept his gaze averted to the ground. 

He didn't look up when Denethor said, "This is a difficult command. It's dangerous. Do you think you can handle it?" 

Faramir contained the surge of anger that the question brought. Of course, his father wouldn't know anything of Faramir's life or the skills he'd obtained while in Ithilien. He had never paid enough attention. "With all due respect, Father, I have been trained as a Ranger for half of my life, and I have served as one for ten years. Yes, I think I'm capable of commanding these men." 

Nodding, Denethor said, "Good. Those were my thoughts exactly. I wanted to ascertain that you felt the same way." 

At this, Faramir's eyes shot up and met Denethor's gaze. His father's grey eyes were still unreadable, but for a second, Faramir though he caught a flash of pride in them. They stared at each other for a long moment, and it was, for what seemed like the first time in years, a gaze without rancor or anger. 

Without saying anything more, Denethor turned and disappeared inside. Faramir remained where he was, unsure of what the encounter had meant. Had his father ridden all the way to Henneth Annûn only to say that? Was he here to make sure Faramir didn't somehow botch his newly received command within the first few hours? The latter seemed more likely, but for some reason, Faramir couldn't help hoping it was the former. He felt a small smile settle on his face, and he sat back down against the rock wall, looking at the sky and waiting for his brother to rejoin him. 

~

Faramir glanced at Éowyn when he'd finished speaking and said, "I hope I haven't bored you." 

"Not at all" she replied, snuggling closer to him. "You've just made me wonder once again what you saw in me." 

He raised an eyebrow. "And why should my story make you wonder that?" 

Éowyn thought for a moment. "You told it with such happiness on your face. You're always so hopeful, even when all hope seems lost." 

"If you mean to disparage yourself," Faramir said, "I must warn you that I shall spout horrid poetry on the subject of every single one of your multitudinous merits, and you'll beg for mercy before the end." 

He grinned wickedly as she laughed. "Spare me, husband. Your poetry is more terrible than the Dark Lord." 

In a grieved tone, he lamented, "And my lady's tongue is sharper than the blade that doomed him." He buried his face in the bed-sheets. 

A struggle ensued, the end of which found Éowyn breathless, giggling, and planted on top of Faramir, who was still shrouded in the sheets. "This isn't fair," she complained. "You're stronger than me." 

His face appeared. "You admit defeat, then?" 

"Nothing of the sort. I call for a rematch." 

Abruptly, he sprung from beneath the blankets and pinned her arms to her sides. "There's your rematch, my lady. Will you admit defeat now?" When she only glared at him, he laughed and kissed her, then rose from the bed and pulled a tunic over his head. 

Éowyn also stood up and put on a plain brown dress over her shift, asking, "Do you have much work today?" 

"Not all that much," he replied, "though I'm expecting to be called to Minas Tirith soon for reconstruction matters." 

Raising her eyebrows, Éowyn remarked, "It sounds excruciatingly dull." 

Faramir laughed. "It isn't so bad. And it has been awhile since I was in Minas Tirith." 

"Perhaps your letter will come today, and you will be able to plan for a journey." 

"Perhaps," Faramir agreed. 

At that moment, a knock came on the door. Faramir went to answer it, and a harried-looking maidservant outside said, "Begging your pardon, sir, but the king of Rohan is here to see Lady Éowyn, and he won't sit downstairs any longer." 

~


End file.
